Page 24 of His Highland Duchess
He could not help but smirk. “Are you sure about that?”
“Very,” she said with acid on her tongue and a warning look in her green eyes. “Try it again and ye might see just how sure.”
He scoffed, forcing the smile down. “At least we are in agreement on that.”
The mood had shifted toward anger. He could feel it coming from her. What was more, he could see her visibly trying to keep herself from saying something she might regret. “If that is all, I think it is time that I retire.”
“For the best, I believe.”
“Guid.” She pushed back her chair and rose. “Guid night, Your Grace. Thank ye for supper.” And then, without waiting for a response, she turned and stormed from the room, leaving the duke alone.
He watched her go, wishing to feel a sense of relief, as he knew that what was said between them, what was agreed, was the right thing. And yet he could not help but feel that a mistake had been made. What was more, despite how controlled he so often was, he also got the impression that where Margaret was concerned, it would not be enough.
Words and promises are one thing, but actions… let us hope I am as strong as I pretend to be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Icannot get over that dress,” Catherine said for what was the fifth time that night. “It is just so unlike you, Margaret.”
“And what daes that mean?”
Catherine laughed. “Exactly what it sounds like–and do not purposefully misunderstand me. I am not saying that you are known to dress as a slob. Just that, well…” Her eyes roamed over Margaret, a glimmer behind them as if the dress itself was reflecting in her eyes. “You look bonnie, is all.”
Despite herself, Margaret felt her face flush red. She had always been close with Catherine, but in that way sisters so often were. Friends, but somehow also enemies at the same time. To hear her pay such a compliment as this, Margaret knew it to be true. And although she liked to hear it, all it did was make the situation she had found herself in that much more complex.
“Personally, I am surprised Lysander had it commissioned,” Sampson said. “Very unlike him.”
“Not just the one either,” Catherine made sure to remind him. “He hired Miss Pinpoint herself to fashion an entire wardrobe. Very thoughtful…” She raised an eyebrow at her husband.
He scoffed. “Is that look supposed to imply something?”
“If you cannot see the implication, I will say it outright.” She raised her second eyebrow. “We have been married for over a year, and still I have never returned from my morning bath to find a modiste in my rooms, there to fashion me a wardrobe for the Season. I cannot help but wonder why.”
Sampson sighed and shook his head before turning to Margaret. “See what your husband has done? He is making me look bad.”
“You do that yourself,” Catherine chided him.
He laughed and took her hand, giving it a kiss. They were bickering, but there was a clear sense of love behind it, and Margaret could see it in Sampson’s eyes as he gazed upon his wife.
The dress which Margaret wore tonight was far bolder than that which she had worn to supper three nights earlier. It was a lavish gown of multiple colors and layers, not dissimilar to how a peacock might look with its tail blooming. A design specifically made to turn heads and have people staring in shock and awe. Adesign which could only be counted as a success, considering the reception the dress had received this evening.
I am caught in two minds. One wants to radiate the beauty this dress demands, for I do so like how people stare and gape as I walk past. I have nae felt more bonnie. The other mind wishes to spurn it, for I do nae want to give my husband the satisfaction.
Even now, over an hour after arriving at the Irovale Ball, Margaret could still feel people looking at her. It had been that way since she’d arrived on the duke’s arm. A part of it, she was certain, was surprise brought by the newly married couple, dashing those pesky rumors into oblivion before they had a chance to gain momentum.
But the other part was how good she looked wearing it. Of that she had no doubt.
“Speaking of your husband, where is he?” Sampson asked, looking about.
“I saw him just a moment ago…” Catherine turned too and searched through the crowds.
It was a bustling event, as these balls so often were. Hundreds of lords and ladies were sweeping through the ballroom, drinks in hand, laughter on their lips, smiles in their eyes, and minds set toward socializing and proliferating their own sense of worth and value in the eyes of their contemporaries. That’s all theseballs were, a chance to remind others of one’s own existence and importance, and to remind oneself, for that matter.
Margaret had found it strange arriving on the arm of a duke, as a duchess herself. She had known that her husband was an important man. Respected. Revered. Even worshipped, it seemed, the way that men and women both flocked to him. But even she’d had no idea just how much.
“Ah, there he is,” Sampson said, indicating across the busy ballroom. “Oh, he looks to be having a bad time, doesn’t he?” he chuckled. “Shall I rescue him?”
“Maybe…” Catherine said, keeping hold of her husband’s hand.
